The Original Realm

The Grand Cell was eerily quiet after the battle, its oppressive atmosphere lingering like a shadow. Luke slumped against the stone wall, catching his breath while Aldric and Eleanor stood nearby. The air was heavy with unspoken words, and for a moment, none of them broke the silence.

Finally, Eleanor spoke. "Maybe I misjudged you," she admitted, crossing her arms. Her tone wasn't warm, but there was a grudging respect in her voice. "You're tougher than you look, Luke."

Luke smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. "High praise coming from you."

Aldric, not one to let the moment pass without inserting himself, folded his arms with exaggerated pride. "Of course, he's capable. He is my pupil, after all. This level of performance is merely the minimum expected for someone under the tutelage of someone as grand as me." He puffed up, his fluff shimmering faintly in the dim light.

Luke glanced at Aldric, his expression deadpan. "You're literally just a talking fluffball. Calm down."

Aldric bristled, his whiskers twitching furiously. "Fluffball? I'll have you know—"

Before Aldric could finish, Eleanor let out a giggle, her usually sharp demeanor softening for just a moment. "You two are like a grandpa and his youngest son."

Both Luke and Aldric turned to her, their expressions unified in disgust. "Gross," they said in unison.

The moment of levity passed, and Luke's expression grew serious. He turned to Eleanor. "You should get out of here before someone else comes back. If they find you here, it's going to be a problem."

Eleanor nodded, adjusting her bow. "Agreed. But don't worry about me. If you managed to sneak in, I can sneak out twice as easily."

Luke chuckled. "Fair enough. Be careful, Eleanor."

She gave him a confident smirk. "Always am." With that, she slipped into the shadows, her movements as silent as a whisper. Luke watched her go, a small smile on his face.

Aldric nudged him with a paw-like tuft. "Time to leave, fool. You've muddied things enough for one night."

Luke pushed himself to his feet with a groan, his body aching from the fight. "You think they'll notice someone trashed the place?"

As if on cue, a distant shout echoed through the corridor. "Who knocked out the guard?!"

Luke turned to Aldric, his eyes wide. "Run. I'm not sticking around to find out what they'll do when they figure out it was me."

With surprising speed, Aldric bounced towards the exit. "Honestly, you have the subtlety of a drunken dragon!"

Luke followed close behind, adrenaline surging through his veins as they disappeared into the labyrinthine halls of the elven citadel.

The next morning, Luke woke with a start as Aldric landed on his chest, his surprisingly heavy form making Luke wheeze. His tiny legs were sturdy, and his beard—proportional only in a way that could defy logic—draped over Luke like a cape.

"Wake up, you lazy oaf! You're not on vacation."

Luke groaned, swatting at Aldric, who hopped back with a surprisingly nimble motion. "What's the rush? I just had the best sleep I've had in weeks."

"Well, it's over now. Get dressed. We have somewhere important to be."

Grumbling, Luke pulled himself out of bed, rubbing his sore muscles. "You ever hear of letting people recover?"

Aldric smirked. "Recovery is for people who don't have schedules. Move."

The Sacred Hall was still an awe-inspiring sight, even after the chaos Luke and Aldric had caused the last time he'd seen it. Sunlight poured through repaired stained-glass windows, casting intricate patterns across the polished stone floor. The air was heavy with reverence, though Luke couldn't help but notice subtle patches on the walls where restoration work had been done. His mind flashed back to the tree he and Aldric had unceremoniously crashed through the sacred building with just last week.

"Good to see they fixed the place," he muttered. Aldric shot him a withering look. "I can't believe they let you in here again."

Luke shot Aldric a look of disbelief, his voice sharp with accusation: "You're the one who threw the tree, not me!"

At the center of the room was a circular table where the eight elven elders sat. Each seemed a reflection of their age and temperament. Elder Thalrien, the most imposing of the group, sat at the head, his hawk-like gaze sweeping over Luke with a dissectional precision that made him want to shrink. Next to him sat Elder Merindor, whose face was deeply lined, his milky-white eyes making it clear that he was blind. Yet his demeanor radiated an unsettling awareness.

Elder Luthaine, a calm and serene presence, rested her hands gently on the table. Her green robes flowed like moss-covered waterfalls, and her voice, when she spoke, was often the counterbalance to Thalrien's sharp commands.

On the opposite side sat Elder Elaris, the youngest of the group. She exuded a restless energy, her golden braid glinting in the sunlight as she leaned forward, her sharp eyes watching Luke with a curiosity that was almost predatory.

Continuing around the table, Elder Caerith sat stoically, her expression carved from stone. Her armor gleamed with meticulous care, a testament to her past as a warrior. Though her words were rare, they carried the weight of someone who had faced countless battles and lived to tell the tale. Her presence alone was enough to silence most arguments. 

Beside her was Elder Fenryl, whose disheveled appearance and ink-stained fingers suggested he spent more time poring over ancient texts than engaging in formalities. His spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, and his muttered calculations were a constant undercurrent whenever he spoke. Despite his absent-minded demeanor, his mind was razor-sharp, a repository of elven history and arcane knowledge.

Elder Velthar sat nearest to the doorway, his slender frame draped in robes that shimmered faintly with advent. His long, silvery hair framed a face that looked perpetually weary, as though the weight of time and responsibility had taken its toll. Yet his sharp wit often broke through the tension, offering dry humor at the most unexpected moments.

Finally, there was Elder Narvian, whose vibrant blue robes and jovial expression stood out starkly among the others. His booming laugh often disrupted the somber tone of council meetings, and his love of storytelling was infamous. Despite his easygoing exterior, his ability to rally and inspire those around him was unparalleled, making him a crucial figure in maintaining unity within the council.

Each elder brought their unique strengths and perspectives to the table, their collective wisdom forming the backbone of elven leadership. But as Luke stood before them, he couldn't shake the feeling that each was silently appraising him, weighing his worth in a matter far beyond his understanding.

Sylveria stood to the side, her poise and authority eclipsing even the elders for a moment. And standing near her, to Luke's surprise, was Eleanor.

"Eleanor?" Luke blurted out, confusion evident in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

Sylveria raised an eyebrow, her cool demeanor intact. "She would have been released regardless of whether you passed your little test or not. Congratulations, by the way."

Luke stared at her, his jaw slack. "Are you serious? I went through all that for nothing?"

Eleanor placed a hand on his shoulder, stifling a laugh. "Not for nothing. You got stronger. You're not such a wuss anymore."

Luke shot her a glare, but before he could retort, Sylveria's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Enough."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to her. Sylveria's gaze swept across the assembly, her presence commanding. "This meeting concerns one of the Hands of Fate."

The air grew heavy with tension as the words sank in. Luke's expression shifted, his frustration melting away as his focus sharpened. This was it—a step closer to Solen. Whatever came next, he knew it would change everything.